


Return to Sender

by chevrolangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Neighbors, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22421398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chevrolangels/pseuds/chevrolangels
Summary: Castiel gets an influx of spam mail, all addressed to one D. Winchester. Only there's one problem.There is no D. Winchester living at Castiel's address.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 266





	Return to Sender

**Author's Note:**

> so begins the tumblr migration! going to start importing all of my old tumblr fics onto ao3, so be ready :) [Link to original post!](https://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/175415384403/return-to-sender-15k-words-this-may-or-may-not)
> 
> Also this is based on what actually happened to me. I started getting all this crap in my mailbox and just like everything else in my life, I turned it into a Destiel AU 😉 Happy Reading!

Castiel squints at his mailbox, key poised in his hand.

He’s not sure why he still bothers. He rarely gets any mail, aside from the occasional bill or spam offer, but he doesn’t want that crap piling up, and besides, it gives him something to do.

And of course, there’s the problem of one D. Winchester.

Castiel opens up the tiny mailbox, pulling out a small stack of papers. A catalogue for Pottery Barn, something from Verizon, a credit card offer. All addressed to a D. Winchester.

Who definitely does not live in Castiel’s apartment.

Castiel dumps all of them in the recycling before heading upstairs, scowling.

It’s been happening for little over a month now.

When the first letter arrived, Castiel assumed it was a mistake. He put it on the communal pile in his apartment’s lobby and thought nothing of it.

But they kept coming. Nearly every day, and nearly all of it junk. Castiel googled it, of course, after wondering what the hell to do—and the internet gave him plenty of advice. He could just chuck it, he could open it (technically a federal felony, but who would be able to check?), or write return to sender.

So that’s what Castiel did. Wrote return to sender and stuck everything back in his mailbox.

The first few envelopes disappeared, but the wrong mail doesn’t stop showing up.

He starts to resent this ‘D. Winchester’—Castiel doesn’t know if they made a mistake, if they actually live in his building and just put the wrong apartment number—or if this is something else entirely. But he’s starting to get pissed at the seemingly endless stream of coupons and catalogues and envelopes. He steals a labelmaker from work and prints his name out in all caps, sticking it on his box so it can’t possibly be missed.

Unsurprisingly, calling the post office doesn’t help.

Castiel gets put on hold, he’s transferred several times—and when he’s finally speaking to an actual human being, they question everything he says, doubt that he knows what he’s talking about in every syllable.

“Are you sure you didn’t register this address?” The voice says, dripping with condescension.

“YES,” Castiel yells, frustrated. “There is no D. Winchester living here, there has never been a D. Winchester living here, and there will never _be_ a D. Winchester living here!”

He slams the phone down, and it gives him a brief sense of satisfaction.

But Castiel still keeps getting the mail.

An ad for food delivery service, and online baked goods store, a Victoria’s Secret coupon for ‘VIP members’. A _wedding invitation._

It’s the first piece of personal, actual mail, and Castiel finds his annoyance is slowly turning into guilt. The invitation lists the sender as ‘Sam and Eileen’ and an address upstate.

That one he immediately sends back. It disappears, and Castiel can only cross his fingers and hope it didn’t disappear into the clusterfuck that is the U.S. Postal System.

Then he gets a jury summons.

Oh shit.

This is no longer catalogues and random coupons getting delivered to the wrong address. This is now someone who could get _arrested_ for their mail landing in the wrong box.

The mysterious D. Winchester could get in real trouble for this.

Castiel fingers with the edges of the letter. It’s all official looking, with JURY SUMMONS emblazoned on it in red letters. He chews at the corner of his lip, thinking.

“No, I did not get it. _Yes_ , I checked.”

Castiel looks over. One of his neighbors, the stupidly hot one that’s he’s seen a couple times, also checking his mail, arguing with someone over the phone wedged underneath his ear.

“I’m looking right now. Nada. You trying to cut me out of the wedding, Sammy?”

Castiel freezes.

Sammy. Sam. Wedding invitation. This has to be him.

“Um, excuse me?”

The man turns and looks at Castiel, squinting. He points to the phone in his hand, clearly indicating he’s in the middle of a call.

“I’m sorry to interrupt—” Castiel clears his throat. “But is that Sam of ‘Sam and Eileen’?”

The guy’s eyes widen.

“Call you back, Sammy,” he says, quickly closing his mailbox and pocketing his phone.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Stalker.” He crosses his arms. “You wanna tell me how you know that?”

Castiel shakes his head, explaining quickly.

“No, no—my name is Castiel, 4B. I….think I’ve been getting your mail.”

Castiel holds out the envelope. The guy takes it, scowling a little when he sees what it is. Castiel winces slightly.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

The man looks up, lips turning up in a half-smile.

“So you’re the guy who’s been stealing my mail,” he says. Castiel huffs.

“I haven’t been _stealing_ it,” he says defensively. “You must’ve listed the wrong address.”

“Hey, screw you,” the guy says good-naturedly. “I just moved here and all this apartment stuff is confusing.”

He looks back at his mailbox, then back at Castiel.

“What have you been….doing with it?”

Castiel grimaces.

“To be honest? Mostly tossing it.” He purses his lips. “You get a lot of crap.”

“Sam,” the guy mutters darkly.

Seeing Castiel’s confused expression, he laughs. 

“Aforementioned groom. My brother. Signs me up for random shit as a prank.”

Castiel snorts.

“Including the Victoria’s Secret Catalogue?”

The man goes pink.

“Um. Yeah,” he says quickly. “That one was—um, yes. Definitely a prank.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. Interesting.

“Well, uh.”

The guy smiles, waving the envelope.

“I’m in 3B. You get any more of my stuff, just pop on over. I work the night shift, so I might not answer—but you can always leave stuff outside my door.”

Castiel nods, his heart leaping at having an excuse to talk to the man again.

“I’m Dean, by the way,” he says, holding out a hand.

Castiel takes it. His hand is warm, surprisingly soft.

“Dean,” Castiel repeats, smiling. “Nice to finally meet you.”

x

A few days later, he gets another envelope for Dean. 

It sits on Castiel’s coffee table for another week until he’s brave enough to do something about it. He takes a deep breath, walks down the flight of stairs to the door marked ‘3B’. Castiel knocks, but there’s no answer.

Well. Castiel will just have to try later. He’s not going to just….leave the envelope out, where anyone could take it. People might really want to get their hands on a….

Castiel flips it over. American Express exclusive offer.

Castiel groans, thunking his head against the doorframe.

x

He works up his courage that evening, once again knocking on Dean’s door.

This time there’s a brief pause, a scuffle and an echo of footsteps, and then the door opens. Dean smiles, whole face brightening when he sees who it is.

“Hey,” he says. “Ca-stiel….right?”

“Yep. Or Cas. Either’s fine,” Castiel says, holding out the envelope. “Wound up with one of yours again.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They both fall silent, staring at each other awkwardly. Castiel clears his throat. Say something, _anything_.

“See you around,” he blurts, and turns to go back upstairs cursing himself. Why can he never talk to attractive people, _why_ —

“Hey, Cas?”

Castiel whips back around. Dean is looking up at him, and seems to be chewing his lip.

“You know, I was thinking about how you basically recycled my mail for the last month—”

“Again, mostly junk—”

“And I figured the way you’d make it up to me is going out for a drink.”

Castiel blinks at him.

“What?” He stammers out. Dean shrugs. 

“Caused me a lot of headaches, Cas,” he says, but he’s smiling. “You owe me.”

Castiel looks at him for a moment longer, deciding to just be blunt.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, with an easy grin. “Are you saying yes?”

“Yes,” Castiel says immediately. Dean’s face lights up, and he tosses the envelope somewhere back over his shoulder. 

“Awesome.”

Castiel holds up a finger. “On one condition.”

Dean pauses. “Oh?”

“You have to cancel all those subscriptions,” Castiel says, folding his arms. “Catalogues really aren’t good for the environment.”

Dean laughs, and it lights up Castiel’s soul.

“Deal.”

He claps Castiel on the shoulder, heading downstairs.

“You’re buying!”

x

Dean does end up getting picked for jury duty, but Castiel keeps him company on his lunch breaks every day he has to be at court.

Castiel is Dean’s plus one to the wedding whose invitation they never saw again.

And eventually, Castiel needs to steal the label maker again.

He hands it to Dean, who places it carefully, then takes Castiel’s hand before they head back upstairs.

x

4B

_C. NOVAK_

_and_

_D. WINCHESTER_


End file.
